Thoughts: Raye
by Sidekickwannabe
Summary: Raye spends a few moments thinking about her mother..Pt 4 of the Thoughts series


I believe with every part of me that my mother is always with me. I believe that she, along with all my ancestors, she guides me through my life. She is everything and everywhere, from the traditions that guide my religion to who I am as a person. I believe that she is part of the air I breathe, part of the trees which my grandfather tended so carefully for the remainer of his life after her death, part of the temple itself. I know for certain that she is who I get my stubbornness from, my passion for life. She instilled in me my love of the arts and the desire to incorporate art into every aspect of my life. But I guess the most important thing she gave to me was her death.   
  
If I wasn't sincere, I'd sound like a horrible person for saying something like that, but it's the truth. My mother's illness gave me the truth about my father. It revealed to me, even as such a young child, that he lived with blinders on. In his eyes, she wasn't dying, she wasn't even really that sick. He honestly believed that in a few days she would get out of bed and things would return to normal, he could have his Kennedy-esque political career with his perfect wife and genuis daughter. Because she couldn't recover, he couldn't convince himself to truly worry and to enjoy every second he had with her. He realized how much he truly loved her two seconds too late. My father left two days after my mother's funeral and never looked back.  
  
Me, well, her death taught me to enjoy my life. It taught me to cherish the people I care about. She taught me that at any moment the people I love could disappear and that I should never be afraid of loving people. My path his been a long and difficult one and those lessons I have now were learned the hard way. I loved my mother. She was everything to me and after I got over her death - one never truly recovers from a loss like that - I promised her that I would do my best to remember everything I'd learned. And if I have children of my own, I plan on carrying those things with me. I say if because with my duty to the future Crystal Tokyo, I'm not sure if there's even room in my life for someone to share my life with, and tradition dictates to me that I will be married when I have kids. But if the time comes where I am a mother, I will look back at my mother and know what kind of parent I want to be. Even if I die before they get to find out who I was and what I wanted to impart onto them, I know I will do as my mother did with me and leave them with people who will do their best to raise them as they think I'd want them to be raised.   
  
That's something else that I take away from my mother's death. She knew that of all the people in the world, my grandfather would be the best person to raise me. My mother knew, from her own childhood, that my grandfather is- excuse me, *was* the most kind man in the entire world. Sure, he was a little crazy at times but his eccentricity was part of the charm. The truth is he could never say no when it counted and would have given the shirt off his back if it meant helping someone. Growing up the temple was full of out of luck strangers who, once fed and clean, stayed no longer than at most a few days in order to get to where they could go. The housing and water and food were free; Grandpa always said that the best thing in the world was helping those who needed it and there can be no fee for kindness. She left me with her best friend and in turn, he became mine as well... Since his death I've been left with a kind of hole, though I know he is with my mother, whereever that may be.   
  
One thing that really sticks out in my memory is the way she would brush her hair on summer evenings. Her hair was a pride and joy of hers and she would sit for hours on this seat by the window. It'd be open and the house would smell of fresh cut grass and flowers and the breeze blew and she'd sit with her barefeet on the couch and one arm resting on the window sill as the other arm would slowly and rhythmically brush her hair. Other times she'd let me play with it and while she encouraged me to practice on her hair, all I remember doing is brushing it and feeling how soft and thick it was. When she got sick, the treatments made it all fall out and I can remember sitting there in the hospital room, crying with her because of it.   
  
The day she died, I wasn't allowed near her room. My father spent the day away, refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was going to loose her at any moment. My grandfather, ashen and weak with grief, spent the whole day with her. Later he told me it was because she was in a lot of pain and she hadn't wanted me to see it. It nearly drove me crazy not being able to get in there and I know I pushed my family's patience more than necessary. I waited and waited, hoping that each time the door opened I'd be able to see my mother. It wasn't until in the evening, my mother's favorite time of the day, when the sun was setting and the sky was awash with orange and yellow, that my grandfather came to get me.   
  
I can't say that I knew what was going on. Being so young all I knew was something was wrong. Right until I went in. That's the moment I knew. My stomach flopped and my heart raced. Before I could stop it, I was crying. That made me mad because I didn't want my mother to see me upset; if she did, she would comfort me and it was her who needed to be cuddled and kissed and comforted. She looked so pale lying there, so weak that I was afraid to hug her when she motioned for me. It was then that she told me exactly what was happening to her, how it was a final thing where she would not return from. She told me that she wished she'd gotten the chance to know me better. My mother started crying when it came for her to tell me she loved me, that she always loved me and no matter what happened to her, she'd always be with me. She held me and kissed my forehead and told me again that she loved me. Then she died.   
  
I don't know how others deal with death but I know I took my time getting used to not having my mother around. Since my father left not long after, it was up to my grandfather to get me used to her absense. He put up with a lot from me. He put up with my tantrums, dodging when I threw things in my anger. I am thankful he didn't tell me my mother was in a place where I'd see her again because I now believe that it gives a potentially false hope. Besides, I had my mother's words to trust in. I had faith that whatever had happened to her she was with me. It wasn't until I grew up that I could understand what it was that she really meant.   
  
Regardless of everything that's happened in my life, I guess I can say I've been lucky. Sure, my mother died before I could truly appreciate her and have the kind of relationship I've always dreamed of. But my memory is long and through everything I do she is with me. Even if I don't have kids, even if that opportunity never comes my way, I can still be happy and know I've lived a fullfilling life. My mother taught me that and she's always with me to make sure I never forget that . I am blessed... 


End file.
